The hiring of a mini to do a tour of Italy is tantamount of tease when you know that the two stars of the film are mad Michael Caine impressionists.

Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan do their trip shtick again under the direction of Michael Winterbottom, this time travelling to the land of spag and scalopine, taste tempting and tippling their way along the route,following in the footsteps of English poets in the early 19th century on the Grand Tour.

Sadly, especially for the Al Pacino besotted Brydon, Siciliy is not on the menu. Still, Rome, Pompeii and Capri get a good working over, and the shots of motoring down the Amalfi coast are mouth-wateringly good.

There’s much discussion on Lord Byron – Brydon muses and waxes that his name and that of the lascivious and libertine Lord are not dissimilar. Indeed Brydon embarks on an amorous adventure as Coogan did in their last trip around England.

Again there’s this post modernist ploy of people playing themselves but in a fictional reality, role playing royale, virtual verisimilitude.

Its a film impression full of impressions – popcorn for the discerning movie goer – light yet clever, witty, sophisticated, an armchair travelogue, a little bit of master chef, a bit of theatre sports, edgy exaggeration of real characters in exotic locations.

Culinarylingus – now there’s a word that comes trippingly off the tongue – meets punilingus in a humungously hilarious chutzpatic psuedo improvisation.

Just enough to blow the bloody doors off.